A rusting pile of iron ore
\nlies on the floor for purposes unknown.
\nDown on the block an old gamecock
\nhas found himself upon the clock and flown.
\nWhile whistles sigh and poets die,
\nthe people cry for more or less the same.
\nRebounding sound drifts to the ground,
\nis swept round into corners like a game.
\nThe city’s streets are all swap meets
\nwhere cheats and grounded fleets waste precious time.
\nIn theory things are dreary but,
\nlike everywhere, one’s gotta make a dime.
\nIt’s not enough when things are tough
\nto get by on just trickery and guile.
\nSometimes when gods or demons call your bluff,
\nyou’ve got to roam the underground awhile.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"